Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire (29 page)

Luke nodded. “But I never put an address on them. I knew my mother would throw them away.”

She didn’t react, didn’t look shocked or surprised. He wondered if it was because she already knew his mother’s tricks, or maybe she didn’t find them presumptuous. “He must have guessed from the postmarks” was all she said.

“That’s how he addressed it, just to me in River Park. If the place was any bigger, I might not have gotten it.”

“Where’s River Park?”

“In the Sierra foothills. Near the gold country.” He studied her for a moment. “How bad is it?”

She didn’t pretend not to understand; he appreciated that, as well. “He’s horribly unhappy over his father’s death. It’s so devastating to lose a parent at that age. And for a father and son who were so close, it must be even worse.”

“I wouldn’t know, I never met mine,” he said casually. “I don’t even know what he looked like. My mother isn’t one for family photos.”

It didn’t really bother him anymore. There had been a time when it had almost made him crazy, but that was long ago. He—

“He looks like you.”

He stared at her. He slowly set his coffee mug down. He shifted in the chair. “What?” he finally said, certain he couldn’t have heard her right.

“Or you look like him, I guess is more accurate.”

“And how the hell,” he said slowly, “would you know that?”

“Your mother told me.”

He’d made a big mistake, a huge mistake. There was no way he would get a reasonable answer about David from someone close enough to his mother that she would even speak of the loathsome Patrick McGuire. He set down his mug and stood up.

Her brows furrowed. Unlike Mrs. Clancy’s, they were delicately formed and arched. “What’s wrong?”

“When you report back to my mother, give her my love,” he said sarcastically.

“Report?” She looked genuinely puzzled. “I barely speak to her. Why would—” She broke off, as if suddenly understanding what he’d meant. She stood up, meeting his gaze steadily. “Luke, I’m not a close friend of your mother’s. I’ve only even spoken to her a couple of times. After I saw you that night, when I didn’t know it was you, I…asked her what you looked like, that’s the only reason she mentioned your father.”

It was you….

He remembered her saying it, and now this explained it. She’d somehow guessed his identity with that glimpse. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

“I only spoke to her this time,” she went on, “because I was worried about David.” Her mouth twisted. “She didn’t seem to care.”

“Now that’s the mother I know and love,” he quipped.

She cocked her head sideways as she looked up at him consideringly. “You don’t sound at all bitter.”

“I’m not. Not anymore. I don’t have time.”

“David said you were busy.”

He blinked. “He did?”

“I thought it was just…little brother talk about a big brother he idolizes.”

“Idolizes? He doesn’t even know me anymore.”

“But he’s built you up into an idol of mythic proportions in his mind. You’re his hero, Luke. Especially, I’m afraid, for all the trouble you got into here.”

Luke sank back into the chair. “Damn,” he muttered. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Nobody knew better than he how hard it was to get off that path once you’d started.

“He’s taken up with some new friends since his father died. They’re…”

“Troublemakers,” he supplied when she stopped. “Like me?”

“I don’t know exactly what kind of troublemaker you are,” she said, “but I do know that these boys are getting worse. They haven’t physically hurt anybody yet, but it’s only a matter of time. And David’s starting to think like them.”

He didn’t bother to disabuse her of the notion that he was still a troublemaker. He’d vowed to let the people in this town think what they would about him. It was David who mattered now.

“He gets too far down that road, it’ll be hard to stop him.”

“It’s a self-destructive path,” she said. “Who knows where he’d end up.”

Luke propped his elbows on the wooden chair arms, steepled his fingers and looked at her over the top of them. “In jail? Or worse? I believe that’s the assumption. And I should know.”

For a moment he thought she was going to ask him what he should know about, jail or assumptions. But she didn’t, and he figured she’d decided for herself. And although her quiet, reserved expression never wavered, he had little doubt as to what she’d decided, just like everybody else in Santiago Beach.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Do?”
How about rattle that restraint of yours?
he thought, and blinked in surprise at himself.

“About David.”

He steered his attention back in to the topic at hand. “I don’t know. Talk to him, I guess.”

She looked about to speak, then hesitated. He waited silently, wondering if she would have to be coaxed, or if just setting the lure of silence would be enough.

It was. Finally.

“I…it’s hard to get kids his age to buy ‘Do as I say, not as I do,’” she said, watching him warily.

Think I’m going to jump you for painting me with this town’s brush?
he wondered.

And yet, he had to admit it stung a little, that she assumed along with the rest of Santiago Beach that he’d continued to be up to no good since he’d left. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her that he’d changed, that he wasn’t the same reprobate kid he’d been, that he’d made something of his life, that he’d—

The next person he came across, he would just let them think the worst…fulfill their grim expectations. It was probably the nicest thing he could do for them….

His own vow came back to him, made just minutes ago. And he shut his mouth. Let her think what she obviously already did. Why should she be any different?

He leaned back in the chair. Steepled his fingers again. “I’ll take that as evidence you don’t think he should come live with me.”

“Is that really what he wants?”

He shrugged. “It’s what he said in his letter. He hasn’t mentioned it since I got here.”

She studied him for a moment, still giving nothing away. Then she said quietly, “Do you want him to?”

He expelled a long, slow breath and jammed a hand through his hair. That was an answer he didn’t have. “I don’t know. Davie…well, he’s about the only good memory I’ve got from here. I don’t want him to go through the hell I did, but…my life isn’t the best for a kid. Especially a screwed-up one. I’m gone a lot, days at a time.”

If she wondered what he did that called for that, she didn’t ask. “You…could change that. Couldn’t you?”

There was something about the way she was looking at him that prodded him to say flippantly, “Go straight? Perish the thought.” Oddly, for a split second she looked hurt, and he regretted the jibe. “Look, I’m worried about him, but…”

“You don’t want the responsibility?”

She didn’t say it accusingly, merely in the tone of a normal question. Which he supposed it was. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“Then why did you bother to come?”

“Not,” he said sourly, “to be reminded at every turn what a total waste my life has been.”

“It can’t be a total waste.” Her voice was unexpectedly gentle, and it seemed to brush away his irritation. “You have a brother who adores you. That’s worth a lot.”

He couldn’t deny that.

He couldn’t deny the odd feeling that having those eyes of hers look at him with softness instead of suspicion gave him, either.

Luke walked out her door at five to ten, and Amelia was glad she had at least a few minutes before she had to open. She was going to need every one of them to recover.

She was exhausted. Just sitting there talking to Luke McGuire, pretending it was a casual conversation between two people with a common concern, had worn her out. It wasn’t her shyness, after years of work she’d overcome that to a great extent. But never in her admittedly sheltered life had she ever talked at length to a man like this one, a man with a reputation, a man with a
past.

A man who was worried about his young brother, she corrected herself. A man who was honest enough to admit he wasn’t prepared to take that brother on, yet cared enough to come some distance to find out how bad things really were.

Perhaps she needed to reassess her opinion of him.

Perhaps, she thought wryly as she forced herself to get ready to open, she shouldn’t have developed an opinion of him at all before she’d met him. Although, if she’d waited until she’d first seen him, riding down the street last night, who knew what kind of opinion she would have formed.

Speaking of honesty, if she was going to match his, she had to admit that when she’d been younger and under the watchful eyes of her parents, it had been easy to suppress any of the more turbulent urges she might have had. Such as those brought on by the wilder boys in school. She was finding it much harder now to deny she found bad boy Luke McGuire fascinating and unsettlingly attractive.

But he still frightened her. In a way that was so bone deep she didn’t even know where it came from. It was more than just the warnings her mother had given her, more even than trying to avoid trouble. It was something, she supposed, based in whatever quirk it was that made her an introvert rather than an extrovert.

But whatever it was, it kicked into high gear around Luke.

She tried to stop thinking about it; she didn’t usually dwell on her shortcomings in dealings with men. But this morning she hadn’t even managed to finish writing one check to her distributor, and now it was time to open. She put her pen down to mark the page in the notebook-style checkbook, then walked across the store. She flipped the sign in the front window to Open and went to unlock the front door, only to find that she’d never relocked it after letting Luke in.

Rattled? Not me,
she muttered to herself.

She’d barely made it back to the checkout counter when the door announcement sounded. She’d forgotten to change it; it was still Captain Picard, when today was supposed to be Data. She pulled herself together, put on her best helpful smile and turned to greet her customer.

Her smile wobbled.

David’s friends. All five of them.

And one of them had a knife.

L
uke had watched the five boys strut away, recognizing the cocky walk and the smart mouths all too well. Those guys were trouble waiting to happen, and they were going to suck David down with them if things kept on.

The group had come upon them as they were about to sit down at one of the picnic tables in the park by the pier to eat and watch the ocean. By now Luke had a pretty good idea of how much—and in what way—David had talked him up to them. On this second encounter they were still assessing, calculating, silently asking just how tough he really was.

He had their number now, and he had shifted his stance slightly, just enough to signify readiness for anything. He had selected the obvious leader, the one they all watched to set the tone, to make the first move. The one who, Luke noted cautiously, had his right hand buried in the pocket of his baggy cargo pants. Some kind of weapon, Luke was sure, and hoped it wasn’t a gun. He had kept his gaze steady, level, and his face expressionless. And he stared him down. Not in a way that made it a threat the boy would have to respond to or lose face, but in a way that said, “It’s up to you how this goes.”

At last the boy had backed off, although Luke wasn’t sure it was for good, and had led his little troop away.

“Nice guys,” Luke muttered now as they sat down.

“They’re my friends,” David said, jaw tight with a stubbornness Luke recognized; it was like looking at the face in the mirror when he’d been that age.

“What about your old friends?” Luke asked, knowing he had to tread carefully here.

“They’re boring, man. They don’t do anything cool.”

“Mmm.”

Thinking, trying to decide what to say to that, Luke selected a French fry with great care. When he’d offered an early lunch, David had wanted fast food, saying his mother didn’t allow it very often. And he got so tired, David had added, of the stuff the cook fixed.

The cook. And, according to David, live-in help as well. His mother had obviously gotten where she wanted to be. He wondered cynically if Ed Hiller’s life insurance paid for it.

“It’s hard to keep good friends,” he said finally. “But it’s harder to find good new ones, because you just never know about people at first.”

“You still have friends from school?”

Zap. He’d missed the jog in the river on that one.

It’s hard to get kids his age to buy “Do as I say, not as I do….”

Amelia’s words came back to him then, and for the first time he realized what a genuinely untenable position he was in with his brother. How could he tell him what to do when, at the same age, his own life had been such a mess?

“No,” he admitted. “But most them weren’t real friends. I mean, they were buddies, guys you hang with, do stuff with, but…that doesn’t necessarily make them friends. Not real ones, good ones.”

David frowned. “What’s the diff?”

At least he was listening, Luke thought. Now if only he could think of what to say. “Friends help you out. They don’t try and make trouble for you, or suck you into any. They don’t rag on you if you don’t want to do something.”

David was watching him, his expression changing, a hint of disappointment coming into his eyes. “You sound like Mom, always lecturing me.”

Luke sucked in a quick breath;
that
was not a comparison he relished. His mouth twisted. “Whew. Nice shot.”

“I was waiting for ‘Friends don’t let friends drive drunk,’” David quoted.

“Well, they don’t, but I’m sorry, Davie. I didn’t mean to lecture you. I used to hate it when she did it to me.”

David smiled fleetingly at the old nickname that only Luke had ever used. “I know. I remember you fighting with her. I could hear you after I went to bed.”

“I’ll bet. It got loud sometimes.”

“I hated it.” David lowered his eyes and picked at the sole fry left in his meal. “Sometimes…I hate her.”

Again, Luke didn’t know what to say. It hardly seemed right to encourage that, but how could he blame the kid when he felt the same way? “I understand,” he said finally. “But I think…she does love you. She’s just no good at showing it.”

“I don’t think so,” David said solemnly. “She just hates me less than she hated you.”

That was such a cogent assessment that Luke couldn’t counter it, wasn’t sure he wanted to. David lifted his gaze, his eyes, so much like his father’s, deeply troubled.

“I can’t take it much longer, Luke,” he said, sounding much older than his fifteen years. “Everything’s falling apart since Dad died. He was what kept her from being really bad, but now she’s worse than ever, almost like she was right before you left.”

Luke expelled an audible breath. “Is it all her, Davie? Or is she worried about you, what you’re doing these days, those new friends?”

“She just doesn’t like them.”

“Who does?”

“Huh?”

“Besides you, who does like them?”

David looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Silence reigned for a few minutes, and Luke let it, hoping the boy might be pondering that. But it seemed a lost cause when, after downing the last of his soda, David merely looked at him and said, “I like your earring. Wish I could get one, but Mom’d never let me get pierced, not even just an ear.”

Luke fingered the small gold paddle that dangled from his left lobe. “This is about as far as I go. I’m a wuss about needles.”

“You?” David said, clearly disbelieving. “You’re not a wuss about anything.”

“Oh, yeah, I am. I’m no hero, bro.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly eleven. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

David swore, crudely. “Stupid drawing lesson. Like a teacher’s gonna make me be able to draw when I can’t.”

“Pretty bad, huh?”

“I suck” was the succinct answer. “And I hate all this stuff, drawing, piano, what a waste of a summer.”

“Could be worse.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I don’t know. Ballroom dancing? Accordion lessons?”

David laughed and for a moment was the boy Luke remembered. Luke smiled as he stood up. “Go. Don’t get me in any more trouble for making you late.”

David got up, too, but hesitated, then said simply, “She knows.”

“She does?”

“Old lady Clancy called her.”

“Figures.”

“I don’t think she’s figured out yet that…you’re here because I asked you.”

“Take my advice, don’t let her,” Luke told him. “Tell her I got…nostalgic.”

David nodded slowly. “She said this morning that after my summer class I have to sit through her stupid lecture, waiting so she can drive me home. Like I can’t walk or ride my bike eight blocks.” He gave Luke a sideways glance. “I think she just doesn’t want me to see you, so she’s keeping me too busy. But I’ll dodge her somehow. I can’t be in any more trouble with her than I already am.”

Luke considered that. “I think you probably can be,” he said frankly. But then he grinned at his brother. “But I can’t. Maybe we’ll just have to make it my fault.”

David brightened considerably at that, then took off running toward the community center where summer classes were held. Luke thought about how his mother had never bothered with those for him. He’d told himself he was glad to have his summers free, to have a mother who didn’t care where he went or what he did as long as he didn’t cause her any problems.

He sat there, staring out at the water, at the picturesque cove that had such appeal for people from all over but had never been anything to him except a place to hide in a crowd. He’d always enjoyed watching the surf, had been drawn to the water, but something had seemed missing to him. He’d kept coming back, because it was so close, but the sea and sand and surf just missed reaching that deep, hidden place in him.

He wondered if David had such a place, a place he kept buried and safe, afraid he would never find what it was in the world that made his soul answer.

He wondered if their mother would smother that place in him before the boy ever had a chance to even look.

Amelia tried to contain her nervousness, but she was afraid she wasn’t doing a very good job. She tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but her idealism couldn’t quite stretch to the idea that these new friends of David’s were here to pick up some summer reading.

Especially given the way they strolled around the store not looking at any of the books, but just her. Especially given the way the one in the cargo pants with all the pockets flipped that knife around. A butterfly knife, the kind where the handle flipped closed around the blade, then reopened with a flick of the wrist, becoming deadly once more. She’d read about them when researching martial arts before deciding on kickboxing.

Open and closed, he flicked it back and forth, with the appearance of idle habit and a smoothness that spoke of long experience. And if she confronted him, she was sure he would smile innocently and tell her it was just that, a habit, that it didn’t mean anything, and why was she so nervous?

She gathered her nerve and tried to think. God, she hated being such a coward. The boy was back near the children’s section now, while the others were at various places, almost as if taking up stations. Almost as if they had a plan…

She glanced at the phone. She could pretend to be making a call and dial 911 instead. But they really hadn’t done anything yet, although she was sure waving that knife around was against some kind of law. But it wasn’t like he’d threatened her or anything, she told herself; it was only because she was so spineless that it seemed threatening.

Besides, they were David’s friends, even if she didn’t care for them, and he might never speak to her again if she called the police on them.

The one with the knife turned and headed back, flipping that blade as if it were a part of him.

It struck her then that perhaps she should try to treat these boys like she did all kids who came into her store. She could find the courage to simply do that, surely?

She drew a deep breath. She picked up the cordless telephone, thinking she would pretend to be calling a customer about a book if she had to, just so she wouldn’t seem so alone. She walked out from behind the counter, trying not to look at the boy who had taken up a position there. She glanced at the boy with the knife. Braced herself. And spoke.

“Did you know your knife is a Balisong?”

The boy looked startled; he must have thought she was too afraid to speak. She prayed he didn’t know how close he was to being right.

“You talkin’ to me?”

“Your knife. It’s called a Balisong. And that move you’re doing is sometimes called the ricochet.”

He looked down at the blade in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. Amelia walked past him to a book bay a couple of rows back. She hoped she could find it; she thought she’d seen it the last time she’d straightened this shelf…. And then she had it, the book on ancient weapons used in the various martial arts. She was sure this was it; it covered even the most obscure practices.

She found it quickly, held the page with the photo out for him to see. “Isn’t that beautiful? Look at the dragon design etched into the handle. This guy’s collection is worth a lot of money.”

The boy’s eyes flicked from the photo to the simple stainless steel model he held, then to her face.

“Nobody seems to be sure if they originated there, but it was in the Philippines that they were first incorporated into martial arts. That’s where it got the name.”

His expression was unreadable, and she wasn’t sure if she’d made things better or worse. Nor was she sure encouraging this was a good idea, but he already had the blade, and she doubted he would give it up because she—or anybody else—said so.

“There are several websites on the internet about them. Even more photos of some really beautiful ones.”

Something like curiosity flickered in his shuttered eyes, as if she had done something unexpected.

Suddenly he turned on his heel and walked out. Without a word, the others followed, only one of them glancing back over his shoulder at her.

Amelia closed the book. Her hands were shaking. So were her knees. She sank down on the footstool she used for shelving books.

She hated being afraid.

But she was very much afraid she hadn’t seen the last of them.

Moments later the door opened again. God, they were back. They’d decided to come back and…who knows what. She glanced at her office, with the safety-promising lock on the door, but knew there wasn’t time. She reached for the phone she’d set on the shelf. The book slipped off her knees and fell to the floor with a thud.

“Amelia? Are you here? Are you okay?”

The phone followed the book; it was Luke. She recognized his deep voice, although there was a different note in it now. A touch of anxiety, she realized with a little jolt of shock. As if he were worried.

“Back here” she managed to say, using the shelves as a prop to stand up, until she was sure she was steady enough to do it on her own; she would hate for him to realize what a coward she was, that five young boys had managed to terrorize her without doing a thing.

He came at a fast trot, only slowing to a walk when he saw her upright. “I saw those kids coming out from up the block,” he said as he came to a stop. “I just ran into them with David a while ago, and they weren’t my idea of kids with nothing on their minds but playing on a summer day.”

“One of them…had a knife.” She managed to suppress a shiver; in front of this man, apparently her pride outweighed her fear.

“The one with all the pockets?”

She nodded.

“Snake, David called him.”

“How…appropriate,” she said faintly.

“Too many movies,” Luke retorted.

She smiled, hoping it wasn’t as shaky as she felt. Her toe hit the book she had dropped, but before she could pick it up Luke was reaching for it. He glanced at the title, then at her, brows raised.

“I…was trying to divert him. Showed him pictures of knives like his, only fancier ones, worth a lot.”

“You deflected a hotheaded, knife-wielding teenager with a book?”